


A New Garden in Minas Tirith

by baranduin



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, cat fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Ring destruction, Frodo and Faramir make a garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Garden in Minas Tirith

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004. Unfinished.

There was a small garden behind Gandalf’s house in Minas Tirith. It had a pocket-handkerchief sized lawn that was surrounded on three sides by flower beds planted with rose bushes of all hues. A tall shady tree stood in the center of the garden (there would not have been room for more than one, not even a sapling), and it was a fine way to pass a warm summer afternoon sprawled on the grass beneath it. 

When Frodo first saw this garden, it surprised him to find such a thing in Aragorn’s city of white stone. It also surprised him to find a garden of such hobbitlike proportions, though once he grew a little familiar with the ways of the City and its people, he realized that such compact gardens were more common than not. The back garden that belonged to the house on the right seemed to favor geraniums of bright red and pink and aromatic bushes of lavender and rosemary, at least as far as Frodo could tell from peering over the top of the wall on his tiptoes. On fine afternoons, the scent found its way to Gandalf’s garden, much to Frodo’s satisfaction as he leaned against the tree’s trunk and pretended to read one of the books on Gondor’s history that Gandalf had pressed on him to pass the time of day. 

But the garden to the left seemed empty and abandoned. Frodo had never seen anyone in it, nor did the house appear to be inhabited for he never heard any voices or saw any open windows (and surely windows would be open for the days were now very warm). 

“You would find many houses in such a state in the City were you to go from door to door,” Faramir had told him one afternoon when he had come to visit Frodo. “For many years, the City has not grown and though I have no doubt that in the years to come we will make up for lost time and all the houses will be bursting with new life, it will not happen in a day or a month or even a year.”

Well, Frodo was not exactly bursting with new life himself, so he thought it rather appropriate that he spent his convalescence in a recovering Minas Tirith with its broken masonry and empty houses. On the other hand, it had irked him at first to have been singled out from his fellow hobbits as an invalid since he was not exactly bedridden.

“I want you to rest each afternoon, Frodo,” Gandalf had said when they had all (and all meant the entire Fellowship minus the King and poor dead Boromir) moved into the house at the beginning of May. It was not a large house, so actually Frodo quite liked the idea of having it all to himself. After all, it was what he was used to; even before Bilbo had gone away, Bag End had been a spacious place for the two of them. However, he did not think Gandalf should get away with ordering him about without a little fuss so ...

“Do not think that I don’t appreciate your concern for my well-being, but ...”

Gandalf had jerked his chin at Frodo, and Frodo had given in, not too put out though he had not wanted to admit it. So he rested every afternoon, and though the history books usually put him to sleep (if he picked one up, that is), he did not regret his quiet hours alone in the garden with the roses keeping him company.

“Hello! Are you awake?”

Frodo opened his eyes to find Faramir kneeling next to him. “I am now!” Frodo replied, smiling. He peered at a pile of gardening tools on the ground and asked, “What’s this for?”

“I have an assignment from the King,” Faramir answered, waggling his eyebrows. “I am to put the garden next door in order. The King does not like to think of it going so badly to seed.”

Frodo sat up and reached for a long-handled rake, taller than his entire height. With the rake held in his hands and the tines of its ends at Faramir’s chest, Frodo said, “You, sir, are a liar. Shall you tell me the truth or do you prefer to make a closer acquaintance with this rake?”

Faramir laughed. “Well, it is true that I am to put the garden in order, but it’s possible I left out a few things.” He bent over and gathered the tools in his arms, including the fearsome rake that Frodo still brandished. “My liege lord thinks I’ve not fully recovered from the Southron dart wound, so I am to take light exercise in the afternoons with a lot of rest breaks.”

“Hmm ... the Healer got to Aragorn, didn’t he?”

“Exactly.” Faramir rolled his eyes. “A rather persistent pair.”

“Don’t forget Gandalf.”

“How could I? The Healer probably told him, and he probably told Aragorn!”

“Exactly,” Frodo said.

After they stopped laughing, Frodo asked, “Do you mind being told to go easily? I thought I would more than I actually have. It’s been very pleasant just lazing about these afternoons. Though I suppose you’ll be making quite a racket, won’t you?”

Faramir grinned and said, “Ah, but that’s just it. I was thinking ...” He raised his eyebrows rather like he’d done at the entrance to the sewers in Osgiliath when telling Sam that he thought gardeners must be held in high repute in the Shire. “I was thinking that perhaps you might assist me ... or at least laze about next door and keep me company.”

It was the finest idea Frodo had heard in quite a while. He jumped up and said, “How do we start?”

Faramir dug around in his trousers pocket and held up a key. A very long, curiously carved iron key. “Simple. We unlock the gate.”

“And where is this gate?”

Faramir waved his arm in the general vicinity of the garden wall on the left. “Over there somewhere. Can’t be too hard to find, can it?”

It wasn’t of course. Frodo was the one who actually made the discovery as he poked amongst the thick ivy that spread up and over the wall. And it was his hands that made the find, his clever hobbit hands that didn’t need that finger, didn’t need it at all that afternoon as he slid his hands beneath leaves and around twining branches until he felt a little gap in the stone wall and then wood, old damp wood.

“Here’s the door!” Frodo said.

It took a few minutes for them to clear aside some of the ivy for it was strong and had a tenacious hold in the crevices of the stone. But clear it enough they did, and then it was Faramir’s turn to shine, or at least to set his strong shoulder against the door once the lock had been turned. He pushed hard, the door swung open, and they entered the garden.

* * *

It was very quiet after they stepped through the door and the ivy stopped rustling from their passing. They stood a few paces from the door and looked around the deserted garden.

“It looks so sad and lonely,” Frodo murmured. “Like ...”

There was a wooden bench near the door, and Faramir set his gardening tools on it though carefully, for to say that its legs with their peeling white paint looked rickety was an optimistic estimation of their load-bearing abilities. “Like what?” Faramir said, his voice almost a whisper.

Yes, this place was somewhere to whisper and Frodo modulated his voice accordingly. “Like a dried-out corn husk ... like all the life and goodness in it is used up and there’s just bits and pieces still left.”

“Yes,” said Faramir. “Still, we will see what life we can breathe back into the husk. What say you?”

Frodo smiled. “I am with you.”

“Good. Let us begin, then.”

Frodo watched as Faramir wandered around the perimeter of the garden. In arrangement, it was very similar to the blooming place they’d just come from, with flower beds running around the perimeter of the entire garden except for where the house lay. And it seemed that here too roses had been the favorite for Frodo saw many bushes, though they were unkempt and disheveled and nigh-on choked with tall scraggly weeds going to seed.

Where this garden was different from Gandalf’s, at least in how it was arranged, was the center of the yard. Instead of a spreading shade tree, there was a little round building with walls that ran only halfway up to the roof. A wide, thick piece of wood extended from the roof and from it hung a swing.

Faramir made for the little building, calling back to Frodo with a grin, “There were children here once upon a time.” The grass was so tall that Faramir appeared to be wading instead of walking, and when Frodo followed him, he had to go slowly else his feet and toes became tangled in the undergrowth. 

When Faramir reached the building, he reached out and gave the swing an experimental tug on one of its knotted ropes. “Looks quite strong still. Well-made, I would say, which is no surprise though it is old and has stood abandoned for more than just one season.”

Well, appearances can be deceiving, can they not? As Faramir found much to his discomfiture and Frodo’s amusement when he placed his very shapely but in hindsight too well-muscled bottom on the old wooden slat that formed the swing’s seat.

Later—much later—Frodo told Faramir (and anyone else who would listen) that the expression on his face had been priceless as the wood split down the center with a great crack and Faramir had tumbled backward. “Arse over teakettle,” Frodo phrased it to all and sundry, and Faramir was quite embarrassed to admit to anyone later that it made him cross at first though he eventually managed to forget his Gondorian solemnity and joined in Frodo’s (and all and sundry’s) merriment.

But for the present, he was not laughing. Then again, Frodo hooted enough for the two of them as he watched Faramir sprawled on his back amidst the ruins of the swing. 

“Can you use some help there?” Frodo finally asked, his lips twitching. 

“Certainly not. I can manage.”

“Yes, I can see.”

Faramir propped himself up on his elbows. “Listen, halfling, I can still make your life most uncomfortable.”

Frodo crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot. He smiled sweetly. “Perhaps I was unclear. Would you like some assistance in getting up, my prince of Ithilien who had me tied up at Henneth Annun?”

A little more grumbling from Faramir in a most un-Numenorean fashion (something about not holding grudges and the stubbornness of hobbits) trailed off into a muttered, “Yes, thank you.” Faramir reached out one hand and after a quick pull from Frodo, he stood on his own two sturdy feet again. Glaring at the traitorous swing, of course. Rubbing his sore bottom. Ruefully.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to change the subject. Frodo, having carried the Ring for so long not to mention having been related to the Sackville-Bagginses for his entire fifty years (and let’s not forget his connection to Mad Baggins), was adept in this ability. He cleared his throat with a genteel “hmph” and said, “Shall we begin?”

Faramir nodded, looked around, and shrugged his shoulders. He pointed to one corner of the garden, which seemed particularly dense with weeds and an ancient climbing rose bush. “There?”

“All right. Shall we get the gardening tools first?”

“I think not. Let’s do a little exploration first.”

They waded through the grass and knelt in the dirt at the edge of the flower bed. Frodo bent over and promptly sneezed for the feathery weeds tickled his nose.

He sneezed again.

And was answered.

“Was that you?” Frodo asked, pulling back.

“No!” said Faramir.

And the noise sounded again, though it was clearly not a sneeze but something more like a growl.

“Perhaps it’s a coney,” said Faramir, squinting at the ivy as though perhaps it would part by the very strength of his gaze and lay bare the creature that lay hidden.

“Are there rabbits in the City?”

“Oh, yes, in the market. And families do keep them on their own. Not a lot, but some.”

It was Frodo who crawled forward, being the smallest and most agile. There was a large fall of trailing ivy at the corner of the wall, and it became clear that the growls were coming from that direction. 

“Careful. They bite,” Faramir said, leaning closer.

“I know,” Frodo said in a soft voice. He crept ever closer, inch by inch, murmuring quietly in what he hoped was a soothing manner. This would not be the first time he’d gentled a frightened coney.

“Do you see it?” Faramir hissed.

“Sshh ...”

Frodo pulled back the ivy and met the fierce yellow gaze of a small calico cat. A litter of kittens pressed against her.

“Oh!” said Frodo.

“Oh!” said Faramir.

“Hiss!” said the cat.

* * *

Frodo tucked the ivy in amongst itself so he and Faramir could get a better look at the little family but without trying to touch them. Though he moved with slow, deliberate motions, nevertheless the mother cat hissed the entire time (with a few snorts thrown in), which created a small commotion with her babies as they woke from their nap and started wriggling and burrowing in a blind and unerring quest for milk and warmth.

When Frodo finished arranging the ivy, he joined Faramir several feet away, where they hunkered down in the long grass and stared at the calico and her babies.

Frodo asked, “Do you think she belongs to someone?”

Faramir leaned forward a little so he could peer at the cat more easily. “Perhaps, though I think not for quite some time. Look at her fur. It’s ragged and thin ... partially worn off on one shoulder. I don’t suppose she’s had a good meal in many days. She must be very brave to have survived these past months...”

“Yes, indeed, the bravest cat in all of Minas Tirith, I should think. Well, the matter of food is easily fixed.”

Faramir sat quietly and kept his eyes on the calico while Frodo sped back to the house. She stared back at Faramir with an unblinking gaze, wary and tense as her babies nursed. When the kittens struggled amongst themselves, she eventually rolled over on her back a little bit to give them better access to her teats, but she never took her eyes off Faramir.

It didn’t take Frodo more than a few minutes to return. He carried a bowl of milk in one hand and a dish of roughly chopped roast chicken in the other, but he did not approach the cat right away. Instead, he knelt down and set the dishes in front of him.

“A good choice, my friend,” Faramir said.

“Yes, I think she’ll like it, but let’s have her get a sniff of it first. I don’t want to frighten her more than she already is, poor thing.”

When Frodo had returned, the mother cat had straightened up a little, no doubt in preparation to attack for surely she would not have fled and left her babies alone in such circumstances. After a few minutes, as Frodo and Faramir sat motionless and in silence, she craned her head forward and sniffed.

“Ah,” Faramir murmured and pushed the dishes forward a few inches. “She’s catching the scent.”

“Mm hmm ...”

Over the next few minutes, Faramir and Frodo inched the dishes closer, though the nearer they got, the more agitated the calico grew. She growled with a rumbly growl in her throat that swelled in force and pitch as they came closer until Faramir withdrew and left it to Frodo to finally place the dishes next to her. He crawled back to Faramir immediately.

The calico was so very hungry, but she was used to being hungry so she did not give in immediately, though the scent of the chicken must have tantalized her.

“Look!” Frodo whispered. “She’s licking her chops.”

“Won’t be long now.”

And it wasn’t. She ate with quick bites, bending her head only for as long as it took to snatch a shred of chicken with her sharp teeth. Only after the chicken was gone (which took only a few minutes) did she turn to the milk, though soon that was gone too except for a little white mustache along her upper lip.

“Should you get her some more?” Faramir asked.

“Later ... this evening, I think. It wouldn’t do to have it all come back up from gorging after such a long drought. I did that at Cormallen, though only once,” Frodo said with a shake of his head and a grimace.

“Ah, the burned finger ... oh ...” Faramir’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”

“No matter. I don’t mind. It’s very apt. Though I should confess ...”

“Yes?” Faramir smiled. “I like confessions, especially, I think, from hobbits. They’re so entertaining.”

“Are they? And have you so much experience in extracting confessions from hobbits?”

Faramir cuffed Frodo lightly across the cheek, which made the hobbit laugh. “Not as much as perhaps I’d like,” Faramir said. “So out with it, and then let us leave the little ones alone to their rest.”

Frodo stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s true that I only overindulged once after coming out of Mordor. Well, only overindulged while I was still recovering from the worst effects of having been hungry for many days. Though of course Sam went hungrier than I.”

“Ssh ... go on,” Faramir said and placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze before releasing it.

“But I would have again ... I would have the very next day, at least once I’d recovered enough from my bilious attack.”

“And what stopped you?”

Frodo drew his lips together in a tight line and did not meet Faramir’s gaze. He blew out a puff of breath and then spoke. 

“It was Gandalf, actually. He said he’d turn me into a potato if I ate like such a hobbity pig again until he’d given me permission.”

A quick bark of laughter from Faramir earned him a growl of correction from the calico, and he quieted immediately, clapping one hand over his mouth. When he regained his composure enough to speak in a normal voice, he said, “Then you shall have to be Gandalf to our little mother lest she make a hobbity pig of herself prematurely.”

Frodo smiled and kneeled down again in the grass. The calico looked back at him, the sharpness of the hunger he’d seen in her eyes lessened. A little.

“Do not worry, little beast. We’ll take care of you and your little ones.” 

The sunlight dazzled Faramir’s sight, or maybe it was the tears that filled his eyes with such swift surprise that he gasped.

* * *

The two-legs were still in the garden though they had retreated across the lawn and were hacking away at the bushes and weeds in the flower bed. She watched them, wondering every now and then at the strange ways of the two-legs.

She was tired.

Her shrunken belly was almost full, yet that had made her even more tired for it was many many days since she had eaten her fill. And even more days since she had not had to catch her own meal, lying in wait for some creature smaller than she to cross her path.

Her babies were sleeping again, all tangled up in each other as they pressed against her. She would have liked nothing more than to have lain her head down with them and slept away the rest of the sunny day in this quiet little corner of the stone city that was her home.

At least it was warm in the sun.

She caught herself closing her eyes and snapped them open again. As she stretched as best she could given her babies all piled around her, she gave herself a stern talking to. She must stay alert and awake until the two-legs left. And then.

What?

Leave this place? For where? Even though the fires had died down and the dreadful flying creatures had gone, gone away with their terrible cries that had made even the two-legs cower in quaking terror, where else could she go?

She tensed as one of the two-legs approached her again. Ah. It was the smaller one, the one with the sad eyes. She’d thought it was a child when she first saw it as it drew back the ivy branches and exposed her. But it wasn’t a child. It was only little.

_Must be a runt._

She raised a paw, with claws at the ready, when it came very close to them, but it was merely taking the dishes away. It murmured to her in a quiet voice as it did so, but she had not been born yesterday and was not about to drop her guard, not when the lives of her precious babies might be at stake. No matter how kind the runty one looked or how sad its eyes were.

Ah. Of course. She had been right. There it was baring its teeth at her.

At least it was going away.

She shifted, trying to stretch her weary muscles, but she had little maneuverability with the babies crowding her. And she wasn’t about to stand up and lose her concentration while those two were about. 

Oh, yes, she’d keep her wits about her. She had enough strength left for that.

* * *

“What did you bring her?” Faramir asked.

“A little more chicken. A bowl of water. She’s probably terribly thirsty. I’ll make sure it’s kept filled.” Frodo smiled at Faramir. “You look like you could do with a cool drink yourself.”

“I could indeed.”

“Shall we go and call it day? I expect our cat would not be exactly sorry to see us go.”

“Yes, you’re right. Let us finish clearing this corner of weeds. This is a fine rose bush, and we’ve almost freed it.”

“All right.”

Frodo kneeled down and began to pull at the weeds with careful hands, both to make sure he did not damage any new growth but also out of respect for the rose bush’s prominent thorns. Though he was attentive and concentrated, he noticed that Faramir’s attention was drawn continually to the little nursery across the garden.

“Is something wrong?” Frodo asked.

Faramir leaned back and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a rather nice streak of dirt across his head. “No ... I was just thinking of something.”

“Tell me.”

Faramir flushed, which of course made his unspoken thoughts all the more interesting to Frodo. But Frodo was patient and did not want to press too hard and try to force anything, so he kept quiet until Faramir finally spoke in a halting voice.

“I had a cat like that once.”

What was it that Gandalf had said about hobbits? How you could learn their ways quickly and yet they could still surprise you? Apparently the same could be said about men, Frodo thought. “What was her name?”

“Her name was Scout. She was a good companion to me when I was a boy.”

“Scout?” Frodo said with a broad smile. “I like that. And was she a rangery sort of cat?”

“Oh, yes,” Faramir said, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows. “Boromir and I always said that no one knew the streets and alleys of the City better than she.”

“Where did you get her?”

The grin on Faramir’s face faded but he answered Frodo with courtesy. “My father gave her to me.”

Well, courtesy was all well and good, but it could be a cool thing where before there had been warmth. No matter. Frodo cast about in his mind for something to say, for he knew a little of Denethor’s madness and death, but he was spared the need for Faramir continued, though without looking at Frodo. Instead, he returned to his weed pulling as he spoke.

“My mother died when I was a boy. I don’t know why he thought of it, but one day I came back to my rooms after lessons and he was there with the tiniest kitten I’d ever seen.” Faramir looked over again at the cat. “Don’t know why he did that, but she was a good cat.” He leaned over and nudged Frodo. “Very prolific, too. I believe all the tom cats in the Citadel and indeed in the City were avid to court her.”

Frodo laughed. “Perhaps our little mother here is a descendant.”

“Perhaps,” Faramir said with a loud snort. That earned him a warning growl. “Peace, little one. I would not harm a whisker on you or your babies’ heads.”

“I think we should go now,” Frodo said. “She needs to sleep, but I don’t think she will while we’re here.”

“All right. Shall we visit her again tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes. And I will check on her several times every day.”

“Good. Come on, then. I could use that drink now.”

* * *

She stayed alert for an hour after the two-legs left, disappearing through the hole in the ivy that had magically opened up and then closed again. Eventually, the food in her belly, the warmth of the sun and the soft dirt she lay on, and her mortal weariness overcame her, and she slept. She did not place her paw over her nose for she knew she needed to sleep lightly and wake if danger threatened.

Possibly that was why she slept on when Frodo crept back during the twilight hour and left her another dish of chicken and a bowl of milk. Or maybe she was just too tired. After all, everyone has their limits, even brave calico cats.

* * *

The Fellowship took counsel together a few days later, with Faramir taking Boromir’s place and Aragorn joining them as the sun began to set. The evening was warm, so they set up a large round table beneath the tree and enjoyed a leisurely meal together, with the scent of blooming roses all around them.

“I shall build a roof of stone to fit over the corner of the wall. That way she and her babies shall be kept safe and dry,” Gimli said.

Pippin shook his head. “But they would still get drenched if the ground gets wet.” He bit into a juicy peach and continued, his words a little muffled as he chewed. “Frodo, surely she trusts you now. Can you not bring her inside where she can be safe and warm and we can sleep well at night since we’ll know they won’t be wet?”

It was a good idea, Frodo thought, except for the fact that he suspected Scout (for so she had been named in honor of Faramir’s childhood companion) would claw his eyes out if he attempted such a thing. “I don’t think so,” Frodo said. “It would still frighten her too much.”

“But she lets you come near her without fuss now. You said so yourself,” Pippin said. 

“I don’t try to touch her or her babies,” Frodo said and smiled. “And you must remember that I always show up with food.”

“And she still complains bitterly at me if I come closer than ten paces,” Faramir said.

“Of course she does,” Merry said, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table. “You haven’t the delicate touch that is needed.”

Faramir stared for a long, pointed minute at Merry’s feet though it merely caused the hobbit to waggle his toes. He laughed. “Yes, you must be right though I confess it pains me a little that she’ll still not trust me enough to come closer. But there. It will come in time.”

“Perhaps we should have Aragorn make a decree to her that she must rise and enter into the house to make her abode there,” Pippin said, laughing as he filled his pipe. “Or maybe Gandalf should do something.”

They all turned and looked to Gandalf for that was what they had grown accustomed to doing, and never had he failed them. Unfortunately their hero was not paying attention since he was concentrated on finishing his slice of cherry tart, Sam having been busy baking earlier that evening. Of course he had ears so he knew what was being said, but still he made them wait until he’d finished the last morsel of the sweet treat.

He sat back and folded his hands across his stomach. “I am sure that you will devise a fine solution.” He cocked an eye at Pippin. “Have Frodo carry her and her babies into the house, indeed,” he said with a snort. “She’d take his eyes out before he took two steps. That one is fierce. Reminds me of a calico Radagast once had, quite the guardian of Rhosgobel she was.”

Two things occurred to Frodo as Gandalf spoke. First, apparently even wizards could retire. Second, retirement made wizards, or at least this wizard, garrulous. As Gandalf nattered on about the Calico of Rhosgobel, Frodo was suddenly reminded of the Gaffer and his long, rambling speeches. 

Being reminded of the Gaffer of course brought Sam to mind. _Where’s he gone to?_ Frodo thought and looked around to find Sam peering through the ivy. The gate was open; indeed, it was kept open now all the time for ease of use.

“Everything all right?” Frodo called softly to Sam.

Sam trotted back and took his place at the table. “Yes, sir. All’s quiet as it should be.”

“Good.”

They all grew quiet for a few minutes, listening to the night sounds of the peaceful city though the house and its garden were sheltered in a narrow street with few occupants as of yet. 

Eventually Aragorn cleared his throat and spoke. “So what is to be done with Scout and her little family? We could build an overhanging roof to shelter them a little.” Even in the dim light, Frodo could see Aragorn’s eyes gleam. “But as Pippin so rightly pointed out, that would not be a complete shelter from the elements.”

Pippin grinned and Gimli glowered, but only for a minute. They caught each other’s eye and composed their features, nodding.

Aragorn continued. “Of course we all agree that Frodo trying to take the little ones with force is out of the question. And after all, the weather is very mild. I doubt we shall have much rain at all for a while.”

“So we should wait and do nothing?” Frodo asked. That felt ... not quite right but not quite wrong either.

When Aragorn said nothing, seeming to find it necessary to fill his pipe and go through the ritual of getting it lit to his satisfaction, someone else spoke up.

“I’ve been thinking ...” Sam said.

They all leaned forward. “Yes?” said Frodo. “Tell us what is in your mind.”

“I could build a little shed in no time. All I need is a little wood and some nails and a hammer and all ...”

Frodo said, his voice eager, “And we’d just put it in the garden next to her and she could choose to get into it or not as she pleased.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “I’m thinkin’ she’d find it right cozy and snug, even without any rain drivin’ her into it, cats being of a mind to enjoy their comforts where they can find ‘em.”

Gandalf smiled and reached out to clap Sam on the shoulder. “A most wise solution, Samwise.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow ... that is ...” he said, looking over at Aragorn. “That is, if I’ve permission to leave off my duties at the Houses of Healing for a bit. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two to get it together and all.”

Aragorn stood up and bowed low. “You not only have my permission, you have my order to build an appropriate dwelling for Scout and her babies. And if you manage as well as you have these past weeks with restoring the herb garden, I am sure no cat will have ever had a finer or snugger dwelling. Well, possibly the cats of Queen Beruthiel fared more luxuriously, but ...” Aragorn coughed. “Faramir, please make sure Sam has all the wood and nails he needs.”

“Of course, my lord. Sam, shall I have the things sent to you here or at the Houses of Healing?”

“Better send it there ... I’ve some delicate work to get done there tomorrow as well so best to be there.”

“Very well.”

Now that the plan was made and agreed on, the little party broke up, with Aragorn and Faramir going off after making their farewells and the inhabitants of the house all wandering off to their various and sundry rooms. Though they cleared the table, dishes could wait until the morning.

After an hour all was quiet. The one inhabitant of the garden moved with silent padded feet, inspecting the table and chairs, noting the familiar scents of Frodo and Faramir and wondering at the unfamiliar ones though she had heard all their voices over the past few days.

Eventually she sat beneath the tree for a few minutes and looked up at the darkened windows of the house. Her keen eyes caught a quick movement and she tensed, ready to escape back to her babies. Then she relaxed.

_It’s only one of the runty two-legs._

There was something not quite right in thinking of Frodo or the other hobbits that way, and she knew that but as of yet, she still had not quite puzzled it out. No mind. She would think on it some more in the morning. Now it was time to feed her babies and then settle in for the night.

Frodo watched her as she moved swiftly through the ivy gate and back to her litter, relieved that the question of her shelter had been solved. He yawned and turned to his bed, eager to sleep and glad of the tiredness that helping Faramir was bringing to him every day. It felt good. And tomorrow afternoon would be busy for they were turning to a flower bed they had not tackled before, one that was especially choked with weeds and old, thorny growth. He would pull weeds while Faramir pruned the tall bushes to a more reasonable height. 

Yawning, Frodo snuggled into his covers. Just as he was falling asleep, he remembered the colorful language Faramir had used the day before when he had miscalculated how a particularly thorny branch would fall and it had pinned his sleeve against the wall. Fortunately it had not scratched Faramir too badly, and Frodo was glad of that, not only because he did not like to think of Faramir being injured but also because it had made him laugh. He could not help it. It made him laugh out loud to see Faramir’s discomfiture.

“Enjoyed that, did you, halfling?” Faramir had muttered at him, trying to look severe and failing utterly.

Frodo had smiled meekly and he did so now as he fell asleep. Yes, he’d enjoyed it, but then he was finding that just being in Faramir’s presence was something he looked forward to more and more. And the sooner he dropped off, the sooner tomorrow afternoon would come.

* * *

“It’s lovely, Sam, but how is she supposed to get in and out?” Frodo asked, scratching his head as he examined the rectangular little house that Sam was even now settling into the soft dirt of the garden. Though Sam moved slowly and carefully, trying his best not to frighten the calico, nevertheless it seemed to him that he could quite likely count each one of Scout’s hairs, for all her fur was raised to attention, with a thick bristling ridge that started at her neck and ran down her spine like a stiff brush.

“There now, look what I’ve brought you,” Sam said in a soft tone to her as he got the house set straight and even on the ground. He cocked an eye at Frodo and Faramir as they watched him. “Here now ... it’ll be easy for her, you’ll see.” Sam laughed and sank back on his haunches. “I’ll show you how it’s to be. Just give her a minute first to get used to it setting there.”

Frodo and Faramir nodded and knelt down a few yards away. It wouldn’t do for Scout to feel like she was surrounded, now would it? Anyway, it gave them a minute to admire Sam’s work, for a sturdy and strong construction it was, one that would no doubt keep the little family snug and dry even were one of the Shire’s drenching spring storms to travel south and pour itself down on Minas Tirith.

“Where did you get the paint?” Faramir asked, for he had only brought Sam wood, nails, a hammer and a saw. 

Sam pursed his lips and blew out a puff of breath. “One of the healers had some about. Not that she’ll notice seemingly, but it seemed best to give it a quick coat of paint rather than let the wood stay bare and all.”

Frodo smiled. “It’s beautiful, Sam.” And it was. 

Faramir said, “Aren’t you going to open the door? Er, that is a door, isn’t it” he continued with a rather rascally lift to his eyebrows, for he was now acquainted with the hobbit custom of round doors (and to be frank, it seemed no stranger than the hair curling on the hobbit’s tough feet). But he could not resist and saw no reason not to chaff Sam a bit about it.

It was a very nice door in fact. While Sam had painted the rest of the house a plain serviceable brown, he’d been pleased to have a bit of bright green to daub on the door. 

“But why is the knob on the bottom?” Frodo asked, crawling a bit closer, with one eye on Scout in case she grew too alarmed.

“Ah, but that’s just it,” Sam said. “It’s not something she’d use herself, being a cat and all, but it’s not just for show.” Frodo snorted, but Sam decided to rise above it, instead reaching out his hand and tugging at the little handle. It did look a bit like a doorknob at the bottom of the door, though it wasn’t brass or even metal at all but just a bit of brown-painted wood he’d attached to it. The door swung up, and as it did so, a narrow plank of wood swung down and Sam arranged it in such fashion that it served to turn the round door into a round ceiling by bracing it sturdily.

“See now ... to my way of thinking, it seemed to me that some rain might sneak its way in through the door if the wind wasn’t in the right direction. But this ought to stop that from happening.” After testing that the plank was set fair and square into the ground, Sam sighed happily and gave the door a little tap.

“Yes, and we can put the food dishes beneath it as well,” Faramir said. “Oh, well done, Sam! Very well done.”

Frodo smiled at Sam. “What shall we call it?”

“I dunno. Bag End East maybe?”

Frodo laughed. “Perhaps. Though perhaps something more catlike might occur to one of us. Cat’s Cradle.”

“Scout’s End?” Sam said. 

Faramir stood up, getting ready to depart for the day, and watched Frodo and Sam for a minute as they tossed ideas around. _Oh! I have one,_ he thought and cleared his throat. Two pairs of bright eyes (more if he’d looked at Scout) turned his way.

“I have a suggestion though of course it might not be right, so do not feel you have to use it.”

“Now, now,” Frodo said. “Out with it.”

“Well,” Faramir said, starting to dither a bit more and thinking at the same time he was growing quite like Sam in that ability. “Well, I know this isn’t a tunnel in the ground or actually constructed in the precise manner of a hobbit hole, but I was thinking that perhaps Catsmial might do.”

Frodo and Sam grinned at each other and nodded. “It’ll better than just do,” Sam said as he stood up. “I’ll look out a bit more paint tomorrow and write it on the side of the house.”

“Good idea, Sam,” Frodo said. “Well, I wonder if we can find a bit of old blanket to put inside.”

“I’m sure ... and if not here, I’ll look out some at the Healers tomorrow. They’ll be sure to have something we can use.” 

“Well, my friends, I’m off for the day,” Faramir said. “We didn’t get much accomplished today in our garden, did we, Frodo?”

“All for good reason, I think,” Frodo answered. “Shall I give you a note of excuse to give Aragorn so he doesn’t think you were slacking off?”

Faramir laughed and shook his head as he made his way to the gate between the two gardens. “I shall try to do without and brave my liege lord’s temper just as I am. I’m sure he’ll forgive me once he sees Scout’s new house.”

“I’m sure he will. Fare well until tomorrow, then.”

Sam and Frodo stayed a little while longer in the garden after Faramir left, waiting to see if Scout would make a move. The entire time they’d been getting the house set up and then admiring it, she’d been very alert. As she always was. But she was growing accustomed to these strange little creatures with their light voices, so she hadn’t been too terribly alarmed. As for Faramir, it was clear he was under the command of the sad-eyed runty one, strange though that seemed to her at first.

Being a cat, after a few minutes she grew curious about this strange block of wood that Sam had plunked down next to her. So, carefully, checking on the hobbits’ whereabouts every few seconds, she stood up, which was no mean accomplishment given that six kittens were attached to her in some fashion. She nuzzled her babies as they squirmed and complained to her for leaving them, still keeping an eye on Sam and Frodo but growing ever more interested in the thing next to her.

It was rather intriguing, for it was hollow inside and seemed like it might be very snug. She thought she might explore it for a minute. Just for a minute, though, considering the two runty ones were still about. With that, she set one paw inside her new house.


End file.
